


these broken wings are sore

by theskyfelldown



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Artist Louis, Bonding Over Cigarettes, M/M, Sad Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyfelldown/pseuds/theskyfelldown
Summary: Zayn finds a picture of Harry. Louis tells their story. Something clicks.





	these broken wings are sore

**Author's Note:**

> **i have absolutely no fucking idea what this is even. it’s been lying in my drafts for so long and i was just smacked full force in the face with the desire to write this and post this and just get rid of it and here i am.  
> **   
>  **Also; this is clearly unbeta-ed. i hope you guys like this. this has everything i love. sad louis, zouis, angst and bonding over cigarettes – i really hope you guys like this.  
> **   
>  **kudos and comments mean the world.**

 

Louis finds a picture of Harry in the back of his old jeans.

Well, he doesn’t. Zayn does. Louis’ jeans accidentally make way into Zayn’s pile of clothes and Zayn, being the angel he is, decides to do Louis’ washing too. He finds the picture though and he gives it to Louis, wordlessly.

Louis sucks on his cigarette, smoke curling out of his lips as he stares down at the polaroid. He runs a finger over the picture – the picture so worn it feels like fabric and feels a pang in his chest. He’s on the fire escape, his legs dangling over dangerously. He hears a car zoom across the streets, the engine roaring loudly and he hears a woman's loud, throaty laugh.

He doesn’t remember much – doesn’t remember when he’d even taken it with Harry, god it had already been _three_ years but he looks happy in it, so far from the person he is now, he thinks. Harry with paint all over his face and Louis with blue paint streaked over his cheekbones, the old lovers practically melting into each other’s touch.

Harry always said something along the lines of him being a sunflower and Louis being the Sun – Harry twisting his body to always meet Louis. Or something. Something along those lines. Louis’ never been good with words anyway. He doesn’t have the time or patience. He’d rather dip his fingers in a tub of paint and run it over a blank canvas and let the canvas speak for itself.

Louis hears his window slide open behind him and he turns around to see Zayn.

“What are you doing?” He asks, amused as Zayn struggles to get himself on the fire escape.

“What does it look like?” Zayn retorts and carefully balances himself next to Louis, grabbing a cigarette from Louis’ pack wordlessly, grabbing Louis’ light from the insides of his jacket before setting it alight. Louis chuckles to himself, watches Zayn, take a drag.

They don’t speak much but it’s always been like that between them. Talk was exhausting anyway and Louis didn’t have the time or patience for words and Zayn’s words were too precious to waste. So they both bonded over silence and shared cigarettes, let their smoke and their art speak for them instead. Toxic, Louis knew, but in a way it worked.

“Who’s that?” Zayn asks, giving a glance at the Polaroid.

“Harry.” Louis says, shrugging, not even bothering to explain further, “Ex.” It felt wrong to call him that, was the thing.

Zayn nods, face impassive. “How’d that end?”

“Uh. Dunno. He had to move.” Louis gestures with his hands, “He was moving all over the place when we were together.” He glances at Harry’s grin and feels something heavy rapidly filling up his chest, something heavy and thick, clogging up his vessels and then his blood stream. It felt like tar but Louis knew it was just heartbreak. “We weren’t together or anything. It was a fling, a one night thing.”

“You looked happy,” Zayn comments.

“He made me happy.”

Zayn hummed over his cigarette, “Where’s he now?”

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs, “Probably somewhere around the world. In America, I think. He sent me a post card, I don’t know where that is,” He chuckled. It was at the bottom of his closet, in a shoebox, treasured with all the other sentimental objects Louis held close to his heart. Harry had sent him a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge, along with his number and his full name scrawled underneath. Louis had breathed out loud when he’d gotten it. He’d fallen in love with someone and didn’t even know his fucking name. He’d never looked at that post card ever again. “Who knows?”

Zayn tilts his head like a curious bird, eyebrows furrowing, “Don’t you want to know?”

“Not really.” Louis lies easily, taking another drag and felt his chest loosening, the tar slowing down for a split second, “It was more like a fling or something. I didn’t love him or anything. We both agreed it was a onetime thing.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Right, well,” Zayn takes a drag and flicks his cigarette, ash spilling over the end on his black jeans. Louis reaches over and dusts it over, “You look happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your smile that bright before.”

Louis swallows past his dry throat, “Well, he made me happy.” Louis clears his throat. He knows he’ll regret saying it but he says it anyway. He hasn’t ever spoken about Harry to anyone out loud before and he doesn’t understand why. Harry was just a person; he’d made Louis feel like he breathed out fire but he was just another person at the end of the day. Another ordinary human.

So why the fuck couldn’t Louis even say his name out loud?

“He was more than a fling,” Louis admits.

Zayn nudges him gently, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes out and takes another drag, “He was the best thing that fucking happened to me.” Zayn stays quiet and gently squeezes Louis’ thigh. “I loved him so much. He – he made me feel like a fucking supernova,” Louis chuckles, “Like – a dying star. I loved him, so much,”

“What happened?” Zayn asks softly and if there’s one side Louis loves about Zayn; it’s this.

“He moved, like I said.” Louis says, “He was one of those free souls, I think, you’d call them. He could never be bound to a single place. He’d want to move from every place to the next and – all I ever wanted was him to stay.”

“Stay?”

“Yeah. Stay. With me, here in London,” Louis wets his lips, “He did, is the thing. He stayed. He told me he’d do it for me and he stayed. But, I could see it was killing him. Every fucking minute. It was – it was hurting him to stay, I could feel him itching with the desire to get away, not from me but – he couldn’t ever, just stay anchored, I guess.” Louis breathed, “So I told him to go,”

“Go where?”

“Somewhere,” Louis shakes his head, “Somewhere far from me – somewhere he wanted to be. It didn’t feel right to ask him to stay when he didn’t.” He looks at Zayn with desperate eyes, “I did the right thing, didn’t I?”

“Of course, you did,” Zayn says, “You did the right thing, Lou, the selfless thing.”

“The selfless things are always the right decisions at the end,” Louis chuckles, shaking his head, “Anyway – I told him to go. And he did.” He points to the picture, “I took it – on our last night. He’d asked me how I painted. He told me he didn’t understand how I had the patience to sit down in a place for so long and create something out of nothing. He was a writer but he’d never stay in a place for long, you know. He’d write bits and bits everywhere. Every line would be written somewhere different. Every line would smell different.”

Louis takes a deep breath, “He sent me a post card, last summer.”

“Yeah?”

“He told me he wanted to finally settle,” Louis flicks his cigarette, “He was tired of it. He was tired of fluttering from one place to another – his words not mine,” When he saw Zayn’s smile, “– and he wanted to settle somewhere.”

“So,” Zayn takes a deep breath, “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Lou –”

“No, hear me out, Zayn, I loved him. I really did.” Louis takes a deep breath. Just a second ago, he’d loved Harry – present tense. But it doesn't feel right. Saying he loves Harry. “It just won’t feel right, is the thing, getting back with him. I loved him, I did, but – it just won’t feel right.”

Zayn stays quiet and nods instead, his finger circling on Louis’ thigh as he takes another drag from his cigarette. Louis takes a deep breath and covers Zayn’s hand with his. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing but this – it feels right. Somehow.

 “Louis,” Zayn says quietly.

 “I know.”

Zayn turns his head to face Louis and before Louis processes it, he’s inching closer and closer at Zayn and Zayn moves closer too, their lips a hairline from each other before Louis thinks – _fuck it_ and surges forward to kiss Zayn.

Louis doesn’t feel fireworks or dragons soaring or a thousand butterflies soaring in his tummy. He barely feels anything – just the press of Zayn’s soft lips against his, Zayn’s hand coming to the nape of Louis’ neck, holding him carefully. Louis coaxes Zayn to open his lips and slides in his tongue and shudders when Zayn sighs against him.

It feels so fucking _right_ , Louis thinks in a moment of bliss when Zayn slides a hand in his hair and pulls. Every cell of his is blazing up in alarm, alarms ringing off in his brain that this is a very bad fucking idea, him kissing his best fucking friend. But it feels so damn good anyway. And he doesn't want to stop, is the thing. He can't bring himself to stop.

“Louis,” Zayn whispers, pulling back, his lips wet. “Louis,” He says again when Louis tries to pull him into a kiss again, “We need to talk.”

Louis feels his hands shake and he smoothens Zayn's jacket's collar to stop them from moving. “Alright, we'll talk.”

“I'm not -” Zayn breathes out and stops. Its the first time Louis' seen Zayn so nervous and it makes his heart sort of rabbit inside of him, “I'm not going to be your - I don't know _rebound_ or something, I won't let you use me to get over Harry.”

Louis feels like someone's doused cold water all over him. “Zayn –”

“No,” Zayn says firmly. “Let me finish.” He rubs a thumb over Louis' knuckles. “I like you, alright? I've been – I've liked you for some time.”

Louis swallows, “For how long?”

“Not long after I first met you.” Zayn chuckles. “It’s very hard not to fall for you, you know.”

Louis feels his cheeks warm and he rolls his eyes, smiling to himself as he hears Zayn's soft laugh. “I've been told I was irresistible more than once,” Louis jokes, peering up at Zayn from his eyelashes.

Zayn swallows, “What are we doing?”

“I don't know.” Louis whispers, “I like you, though, I think.” Louis says without thinking and when he hears Zayn's loud laugh, embarrassment settles in along with relief.

“You think, huh?” Zayn asks, reaching to pull Louis on his lap. He brushes Louis' hair out of his eyes and Louis' eyes flutter shut at his gentle touch.

“No, I know. I like you, a lot.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“Shut up, you wanker.” Louis snaps, hitting Zayn on the arm, “You're ruining our moment.”

“I think it's perfect, just the way it is.” Zayn laughs and he pulls Louis into another kiss; slow and warm, his lips moving gently against Louis in the best way possible. Zayn settles his hands at the sides of Louis' waist and gives him a gentle squeeze. Louis flutters his eyes shut and groans low in his throat when he feels that he's hard.

Zayn pulls back, eyes twinkling, “Just from this?”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up!” Louis groans, reaching to smack Zayn again before Zayn circles Louis' wrist with his fingers and holds it to the left side of his chest, right above his heart. Louis stares, speechless; he's dying to say _something_ but he knows it would be futile anyway, even just to try. Instead, he smiles softly and pulls Zayn into another kiss. This one; it says more than what Louis could ever try to say out loud.

When Louis and Zayn finally get inside their apartment, their fingers cold and icy, their lips wet and their cheeks hurting from how much they've smiled, Louis finally reaches out for Harry's post card when Zayn slips into the kitchen and calls Harry.

He knows it's been far too long but Louis finally knows what to do.

**Author's Note:**

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